


Between Here and Lost

by missbelleblue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Marvel Universe, Protective Bucky Barnes, Romance, Shower Sex, Smut, Wall Sex, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbelleblue/pseuds/missbelleblue
Summary: **AU**Taking place a little prior to MCU Winter Soldier movie.  A different take on Scarlett Witch/Wanda Maximoff.  She's completely different, but somewhat based on Wanda.Anelise Maximov's brother is dead--and she blames it on his association with Steve Rogers and the Avengers.  As Pietro died, he begged Steve to find and protect Anelise.But she's already in hell.  She works for Hydra and although she doesn't believe their mantra, she needs a paycheck to survive.  Besides, so far all she does is work.  Nothing illegal.  Nothing underhanded.Until one day, she's forced down into an underground vault to give medical assistance to an asset.  But not any asset.  The Asset: The Winter Soldier.  And for Anelise, there's something about him that's intoxicating.  She can't get him out of her mind; she finds herself falling in love with him.  Can she help him escape the brutality of Hydra--or will she lose her life trying to save his?





	1. Little Girl Lost

My life was just one shit storm after another.

I took another drag from my cigarette, blowing the air out of the corner of my mouth. My brother was dead. He and I were estranged, so to speak, and at some point he’d gotten himself involved with the Avengers. Which was fine and dandy, but it got him killed. Somehow I knew—maybe it was our connection as twins—but it was confirmed when a woman I didn’t know and never saw again came to my door. She’d been there when he died, she explained, and that he’d begged Steve Rogers to find me and protect me.

I wasn’t clear on what the magical Captain America was supposed to keep me safe from, because I was already in hell. The evil that lurked in the shadows was around me like a constant hum in my brain: Hydra. 

I took another fitful drag from the cigarette. Hydra was the wedge that separate me and Pietro. He preferred the idea of starving to death in Sokovia, whereas I decided to work for a degree and get a job. With no actual skill set, I had to do things that shamed me; that I didn’t believe in and regretted, to get money to pay for a degree. And I got it—fast because I worked my ass off—and almost immediately snagged an interview with Hydra. Of course, I didn’t know the high-tech building was Hydra at the time.

And by the time I figured it out, it was too late.

I sucked in as much nicotine as I could, then leaned down and ground my cigarette out on the pavement. I didn’t get paid enough to to care about what Hydra did; I just came to work, did my job if needed, and went home. And there wasn’t often a shitload for me to do. I was a nurse. Working in an office building. Smashed fingers, paper cuts, the occasional need for tampons from the like, 16 females who worked there, maybe some high blood pressure. It made for a long day.

I glanced at the digital readout on the panel as I swiped back in the building. My day was almost over. Three more company physicals, a tetanus booster, and a file to dictate for the resident MD. Then a walk home. And take-out for dinner. Again.

At least I was consistent. 

After taking the elevator to my floor and walking the hallways to my office, I swiped in on the panel to my office—only to immediately wish I could turn around and head somewhere better. Like the morgue. Brock Rumlow was sitting on my desk, flipping through a file I’d left by the computer. His lips spread into a disgusting smile when he saw me. “Well well, Miss Maximov. I was hoping you’d come soon.”

I made a noncommittal noise in my throat. God, he was such a creep. He was always slinking about the building like a snake, hovering around my door and outside the building when I went to leave for the night. I wanted to shank him with a sedative or horse tranquilizer or some shit. I snatched the file out of his hands and slapped it down on the desk. “Is there something you actually need? Because I have back to back to back physicals to do starting in five minutes.”

“And how do I go about getting a physical from you, gorgeous?”

“Well, you can’t.” I smirked. “You get a notice from the MD and an assigned RN. We don’t have sign up sheets like we do for flu shots.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, his tongue pressing against the interior of his cheek. His eyes ran up and down my body.

“Cut the shit, Rumlow. Get to the point or get out.”

“I need you.”

I rolled my eyes and flopped down into my desk chair. “Jesus Christ.”

“What I need is you,” he braced his fists against my desk and leaned toward me, “to come with me. We have an asset that needs medical attention.”

“I’m not the MD.”

“Clearly. But you have clearances she doesn’t.”

I groaned, pressing my fingertips to my temples. “I’m not trying to argue with you, I’m not. But I have shit to do and I don’t have clearances you think I do.”

“Don’t worry about it, beautiful. We got your physicals and shots and reports all reassigned to Dr. Sabrina Markel, piss poor excuse for an agent. Your afternoon is free.” His lips parted in a much too wide grin. “Let’s go, precious.”

I felt like smoke was steaming out my nostrils. This was bullshit. And, no doubt, if this was some kind of shit Rumlow was trying to pull to get me alone and try to take advantage of me…Jesus. Fire was burning underneath my skin. I wouldn’t put it past him.

But, despite my better judgement, I followed him. People in the halls seemed to part for Brock Rumlow, as he sauntered down the corridors. Nobody wanted to mess with him. He was underhanded and dirty; he got where he was because he had no regard for rules. That was probably how Hydra actually worked, but I wasn’t entirely sure Rumlow believed in Hydra’s cause. He liked doing things he shouldn’t and liked to kill. He got that here.

He led me to an elevator in the back of the building; one that had no swipe card, but a code and retinal scan. He punched something in and then leaned forward. The doors opened.

“After you.” He licked his lips suggestively. Smirked.

I stepped into the elevator and away from him. He was right behind me, again punching in a code and this time swiping a badge. The elevator headed down.

He moved closer to me. “Don’t you need a stethoscope or something? Maybe you can check my pulse.”

“I don’t use a stethoscope to take a pulse.”

He frowned. “Did you bring anything with you?”

God, he really was as dumb as he looked. I held my hands out, palms up, and said, “Do I look like I brought anything with me?”

His eyes dropped to my chest and again, he licked his lips.

“Jesus Christ.”

The elevator eased to a stop and the doors slid open. It seemed to break Rumlow out of his breast induced trance and he cocked his head forward. “Turn left at the end of the hall. Last door.”

Without responding, I walked off the elevator and quick-stepped down the hallway. He was right behind me; I could hear every clomp of his boots as he walked. I expected to feel him clip the backs of my heels as I walked. I knew he was so close, probably able to just reach out and touch me. Cop a feel.

I shuddered.

The walls at this level looked like reinforced steel; they were pockmarked every several meters by equally strong looking doors. Everything was shut. Locked down. There were special keypads and palm print screens at every door. At the end of the hall, the doors automatically opened into another hallway, hewn from rough stone, and lit by small, recessed lights. I kept walking.

There was a door at the end. It looked older and more battered, with multiple code pads and palm pads. Rumlow pushed past me, his body pressing against mine, and swiped a key card. He followed with a code. And then his palm print. And then a retinal scan.

He said, “I don’t think I need to tell you that anything you see here is confidential. As in, if you say one god dammed word, I’ll slit your throat.”

“I didn’t get security clearances, marginal as they are, by running my mouth.”

“Good girl.” 

The door swung open. It was like I’d walked into a different world completely: this wasn’t the sophisticated, tech heavy Hydra building. This was brass, steel, and marble. The ceilings were higher than in the maze of corridors. Marble pillars and ornately carved dark wood flourished throughout the room; it was both elite and foreboding. The lighting was warm and welcoming…but something was wrong with this place. I could feel it, as if it was soaking through my skin like thick grease. Across the room from where I stood were two sets of highly polished iron gated partitions. A guard stood at each section.

And at the far side, was a slightly open, thick iron door, like the entrance to a vault. Except I heard muffled voices from inside…so that meant all this security wasn’t to keep someone out—

—but to keep someone in. 

Rumlow pulled a Glock from his holster and motioned at the first set of barred gates. “After you, Miss Maximov. You have plenty reason to be scared, but I’ll put him down before he hurts you. Trust me.”

I didn’t trust Rumlow. Not in the least. But I walked forward anyway, because of the two choices I had—going in or facing the cocky bastard and his Glock—I’d rather see what was inside the vault.

The second set of iron gates weren’t opened until both Rumlow and I were on the opposite side of the first; and even then, the first doors were slid shut and locked before the second were opened. I kept my eyes focused on the floor. It was the kind of behavior zookeepers used with wild animals. A two gate system. It kept the lions and tigers always locked behind one barrier so that, in the case of an emergency, the creature couldn’t escape. I was all of, maybe, five foot five in the flats I was wearing and thin from too many years of poverty and starvation. If they had this much security to keep whatever was in that vault secure? Needless to say, I didn’t stand a chance. Not even with Stable Mable behind me, armed with his Glock and pissy attitude.

The second set of iron doors slammed shut behind me; I jumped. If Rumlow noticed, he didn’t say anything and just pushed past me to walk in first. He wasn’t even in the room before he was barking out orders. “If you even move too fast, I’ll fucking blow your head off.”

I stepped in the vault behind him.

The walls consisted of old, brass safety deposit boxes. Some were open, some weren’t; in sharp contrast to the old timey bank boxes, the room was crowded with a variety of tech. There were body monitors reading vital signs, there were all kinds of computers and panels and tables and instruments. It looked like some kind of strange epicenter, a mixture of medicine and science. In the center of the room was a huge piece of equipment, a chair of some sort, with read outs and monitors and…

…a restrained man.

I sucked in a sharp breath. When Rumlow had said an asset, what he’d actually meant was The Asset. The Fist of Hydra. He was an assassin, a killer that no one could stop. His physique matched that: he’d been stripped down to black trousers, his ankles strapped to the bottom of the chair and his feet clad in heavy, black boots. His shoulders were broad and muscular, his chest looked like it was carved out of solid marble by God himself, and his body narrowed down to a trim waist line. One arm, flesh, was covered in blood. The other was metal.

“Jesus Christ.”

I thought I’d muttered the words to myself, but he’d heard me. His head snapped up.

And the monster, if that’s what they thought he was, looked heartbroken. His hair was dark brown, nearly touching his shoulders, and made a sharp contrast to his clear, blue eyes. He had a sharply defined jawline and cheekbones that—like his chest—looked like they should have been crafted out of marble. His face was bruised, his lips covered in drying blood.

Another attendant was huddled in a corner, clearly uncomfortable being in the same room as The Asset. He cleared his throat. “He’s lost a lot of blood, sir.”

Rumlow leaned down to eye level with The Asset and spit in his face. “I should just let you bleed out.”

He didn’t respond.

Rumlow stared at him, narrowing his eyes; he backhanded him across the face.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” My hands felt like they were on fire; I wanted to jump on Rumlow’s back and yank him away from The Asset. “I thought you brought me down here for a medical reason. And, medically, the first rule is ‘first do no harm.’”

For the first time since we’d entered the vault, The Asset looked at me. His head lolled somewhat to the side and then he straightened, as if this was the actual first time he was aware of my presence. His eyes locked on mine.

And in my mind, all I could hear were screams. Panic, begging; pain and the sheer white burn of fire ripping through my back and arms. I couldn’t look away from him. The panicked terror that seared my brain, that initial well of physically being ripped apart…disappeared. It wasn’t there. Looking in his eyes, losing myself in the soft blue hue of his irises was almost grounding. It held me in place. But there was something in that gaze that jolted me. It was comfort and intoxication, desire and pain; panic and desperation.

And rage.


	2. The Asset

Rumlow clamped his hand on my shoulder and yanked me forward, directing me towards The Asset’s flesh arm. “Fix him.”

I jerked away from his touch. “What happened to him?”

“You don’t need to know.” 

“Bullshit. If you want me to fix him, I need to know what happened. Unless you have an x-ray machine or something here so I can figure it out. Broken bones, concussion—“

“He had an accident.” Rumlow leaned forward a little, edging closer to me than I was comfortable with. “He’s bleeding. Fix. It.”

My voice was almost at a snarl; it surprised me. “With what?”

“Fucking useless bitch.” He motioned at the assistant with the Glock. “You got a first aid kit?”

“N-no sir.”

Rumlow’s brow furrowed in a deep scowl and he balled up his fist at his side. “What do you think you need? Minimum, because I’m not fucking going to some kind of medical warehouse to fix this bastard.”

I glanced at The Asset’s arm. There was large wound on his shoulder, partially bandaged in blood soaked, dirty fabric. The only other injuries I immediately saw was a cut next to his eye—internally, though, could be a completely different story. “Clean bandages. A kit to stitch the wound. Antibiotics. Or,” I looked directly at Rumlow, “a hospital.”

He snorted. “Not possible. I’ll get your shit and you fix him.”

“He’s still bleeding. I need it fast.”

“You’re a nurse.” Rumlow cocked the Glock and held it to The Asset’s temple. With his free hand, he clamped a restraint around his metal arm and locked it in place. “Figure it out.”

The tech in the corner jumped up. “I’ll go with you! I’ll show you what she needs. I know what she needs.”

Rumlow moved the Glock from The Asset to pointing at the tech. “No, you’ll stay here and watch. If he so much as grabs at her, get someone in to put him down.”

Panic rippled across my chest. Put him down? 

The Asset didn’t move. He didn’t even so much as flinch when the gun was in his face or when Rumlow alluded to killing him. He just sat there…looking at me.

Rumlow left the room without another word and I heard the succession of iron doors slamming behind him as he retreated back through the maze of hallways. I inwardly groaned. It was always so nice to see him leave, but I actually needed him to comeback this time. I needed supplies.

I turned my attention to The Asset. “My name’s Anelise.”

His eyes widened a little, but he remained silent. This close to him, his eyes were an even more brilliant shade of blue and framed by thick, dark lashes. His right eye was starting to swell from whatever had impacted against it. But he was handsome. Under all that dirt and blood and emotion, was a fucking gorgeous man.

I swallowed hard. “Is there something I can call you?”

“He won’t answer.” The tech had wedged himself in a corner; he wielded a black, wheeled stool like some kind of shield. “He’s the fucking Winter Soldier. You’re lucky he hasn’t killed you yet.”

“It’s still early.”

“I’m not going to get myself killed trying to save you. Just so you know. If he goes at you, I’m out of here.”

“You can just leave now, if you want.” I shrugged noncommittally. “I really don’t need you.”

The tech didn’t say anything.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” Looking back at The Asset, I said, “I’m going to check your arm first and then your eye. I don’t think it’s cut, but I’d rather check and be safe rather than let you leave with, like, a shard of glass in your cornea.”

This time, he nodded. It was no more than a slight dip of his chin from level, but I’d take it as his consent.

The bandages around his bicep were a disgusting mess of blood and dirt. I glanced up at the tech. “Did you even…you know, try to stop the bleeding?”

“I’m not getting close to him. He’s assassinated like, dozens of people in 50 years or so.”

“God damn useless techs. Jesus.” I shook my head. Tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, I said, “I’m sorry if this hurts. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He was still staring at me, his lips parted as if he’d just sucked in a sharp breath. But, as always, he was silent.

The bandages weren’t actually secured by anything and they easily peeled away. Every layer was soaked with blood; it was still flowing. The cut, the gash, whatever it was, was deep. When I was finally down to his skin, I touched the jagged edges of flesh gingerly. He hadn’t so much as flinched. Even the gentle pressure of my fingertip didn’t seem to bother him.

The wound was worse than I’d guessed, uneven and gaping open. The shallower sections had started to clot, but I was more concerned about the area nearest his arm pit. It needed cleaned. Stitched. He needed antibiotics. Or, more preferably, a hospital.

I looked up at the tech again. “Can you get me some warm water? Maybe a towel or something?”

For once, he made an expression other than terror. He shoved the stool away. “Yes. Yes I can.”

And with that, he ran out of the room.

“Jesus Christ, what a dumbass. It’s like talking to a tree stump.” I scanned the room quickly. Of course there was no fabric in sight. It was a sterile, tech heavy vault. 

First, do no harm.

I leaned over and dug at a loose hem on the side of my skirt. The section gave way easily; I ripped around the bottom until the entire bottom panel was free. Insta-miniskirt, insta-bandage. Folding it into quarters, I gently pressed it to his skin. 

He winced.

“I’m sorry, I know. I wish I had some kind of anesthetic to give you. Lidocaine or something. Even an ice cube to, like, numb it up.”

Very softly, almost more to himself than to me, he spoke. “I got shot.”

“If the bullet’s still in there, we’re a little bit across the line of ‘first aid’ and more into ‘surgery needed’ territory.”

“It’s not. I dug it out.”

“That makes me a little dizzy, I’ll be honest.” Holding onto his arm was like holding onto a rock. He was so strong, his muscles taut under his skin. I let my eyes drift down to his wrists and to his hand; his knuckles were bruised and bloodied. Whatever happened had been one hell of a fight. “If you can keep pressure on this, I’ll check your eye.”

His eyes were locked on mine; I could feel my cheeks redden. There was something intoxicating about them, about the way he looked at me. I cleared my throat. “I mean, I’ll unhook your other arm.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I trust you.”

I wasn’t sure where the words came from; fuck, I didn’t even know him. But…I did trust him. Despite all the precautions and guards and restraints, he didn’t scare me.

“You shouldn’t do that either.”

I shrugged. “I’ve made worse mistakes. Besides, he that dies, pays all debts.”

Our eyes locked again. I smiled shyly and looked away, handing him the blood soaked fabric from my skirt. “Sorry. Shakespeare, from The Tempest. I took a class on Shakespearian literature as an elective and it’s now somewhat of an addiction.”

“You talk a lot.”

“I’m alone a lot. I have to keep myself company.” I ran my hands, slippery with his blood, along the underside of the arm restraint. It took a couple of tries, but I got it to unclamp. Without thinking much about it, I took his metal arm in my hand and guided it to his opposite shoulder. “Here, give me the cloth. Okay, like this, hold it right here and keep it steady. Not too much pressure, but firm.”

He looked stunned. I could feel his confusion and bewilderment like it was thick in the air. It was like no one had ever been decent to him.

I said, “If you lean back a little, I’ll check your eye.”

He stiffened. 

“I mean, clearly I’m coiled steel, but I’m not going to like, poke your eye out or something. I just want to be sure there’s nothing in it.” I pursed my lips together. “It will only take a minute. Maybe less if you hold still.”

He leaned back in the chair, his metal hand still clamped on his bicep. The uncertainty in his eyes was almost too much to bear. The more I was in this room with him—alone—the more I felt like this man had never once felt kindness. And if he was around Rumlow much, it made fucking sense.

I brushed his hair back, gently tilting his head to the side so I could see better. The florescent lighting in the vault was too dim; I squinted to see better. The cut next to his eye didn’t reach all the way into the eye itself. So that was a positive. It didn’t look like there was any debris or anything in his eye, just soft tissue swelling. “Can you see okay? No double vision or anything?”

“It’s okay.”

“I just want to check your orbital bone to make sure it’s not fractured.” I pressed the pads of my fingers to his temple and then worked my way to his cheekbone. “Does any of this hurt?”

His eyes were focused on me, his lower lip quivering slightly. He swallowed. “No.”

“You can tell me if it does.”

“I’m okay.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, I agree. Your face is okay. I mean, better than okay…I mean, you have an attractive face and I don’t think it’s like, broken or anything.” I stopped talking completely and took a deep breath. God. “What I mean to say, is that I don’t think you have any fractures. Your eye isn’t bloody or full of pus or anything, so I think it’s okay too. Nice. You have nice eyes. And undamaged eyes.”

I wanted to punch myself right in the mouth. Idiot. 

I rested my hand on his metal hand. “I can hold it now.”

He looked in my eyes, his lips slightly parted. This time, I couldn’t look away. It was clear they treated him like an animal. They’d broken him for a purpose, made him their own, yet, in those big blue eyes, I saw more. I felt more. It was an intoxication I’d never experienced; like I was staring into his eyes and seeing more of myself than I ever had.

“What in the fuck is going on in here?”

Rumlow. I casually looked up, praying that the intensity of my pulse wasn’t visible in my throat. “I’m trying to control the bleeding. He needs stitches.”

The Asset had dropped his metal arm back where it had been before. I realized right away what he was doing: he was trying to make it look like he was still restrained. 

“Where’s the tech?”

“I told him to get me warm water and a towel. Clearly, he’s going to Sweden to get water from a mystic hot spring or something.”

“He left you alone? With him?”

He referred to The Asset like he was a thing; like he was no better than a bug under his boot. I could tell a difference in their physiques, though. If The Asset really wanted to, he could have broken Rumlow in half. I’d have paid money to see it, actually.

“Funny thing about that.” I smirked. “I’m fine.”

Rumlow slammed supplies down on the metal rollaway table next to the chair. “You’re lucky. This bastard has had his brain wiped so many times, I’m surprised he can even function.”

I glared at him, my eyes twitching as I tried to not narrow them completely. “Wipe him? What the fuck does that mean?”

“None of your god damned business, that’s what.” 

The Asset was now looking down at the floor, his eyes focused on some imperceivable spot, and his cheeks flushed. The bullet wound on his arm might not have hurt him, but Rumlow’s words did.

Rumlow walked back to the door and slammed his hand against the wall twice. “I need a bucket of water and a towel. Now.”

“Warm water.” I said.

“You get what he gives you.” He turned back and looked at me. “You want me to lock him down so he doesn’t haul off and try to attack you when you stitch him up?”

“I think he’s pretty chill.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Isn’t that why you’re lurking around down here? To protect me?” I shook my head, choking back laughter, and rummaged through the supplies he’d brought. “I can handle myself.”

“He’d kill you without thinking twice.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” I didn’t even look up; I was more focused on the fact he’d actually brought supplies that would help. Amazing. I didn’t even think Rumlow could read. “‘Kay.”

He again pulled the Glock from its sheath, idly passing it from one hand to the other. “They’ve beat submission and obedience into him for seventy years. He’s got no brains left.”

Jesus. I wanted to shove him out the door and slam the vault shut behind him. I muttered, “Luchshe byt’ nim, chem s toboy.” My native tongue: I’d rather be with him than you.

The Asset perked up, his eyes widening considerably. He’d understood me.

I adjusted the fabric over his wound and whispered, “I ya imeyu v vidu eto.” And I mean that.

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching my face. “YA ne prichinuy tebe vreda. YA klyanus.” I won’t hurt you. I swear.

“The fuck are you two muttering about?” Rumlow was walking towards us, a bucket of water in his hands and a towel over his shoulder. “You understand him?”

“No.” As soon as Rumlow turned his back, I smiled at The Asset. “YA doveryayu tebe.” I trust you.

“Then why do you keep muttering that shit?”

“Well, obviously, because I learned medicine in a different language. Thank you.” I dipped the towel in the water; surprisingly, it was warm. I glared at Rumlow. “It makes me nervous if you’re in here.”

“I’m protecting you. From him.”

“No, you’re bothering me.” I turned my attention to The Asset. “This is going to sting, okay, but I have to clean it out. I want to get the blood off your arm first, okay?”

He nodded.

I pressed the warm, wet towel to his bicep. He didn’t move, he didn’t even blink. I patted the fabric against his skin, being careful to not tug or otherwise disturb the wound and make it worse. Rumlow still hadn’t moved and it was beyond irritating. “You really need to leave.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, actually, you can. Just wait outside. I don’t need any distractions because if I stitch this wrong, you’re going to have to wait outside while I do it again so we might as well just agree to disagree and you wait outside.” I slid my hand to the back of The Asset’s arm, gripping his bicep to hold his arm in place while I cleaned his wound. “Any time now would be great.”

He cursed, slamming his fist against the vault door. “You’re lucky Pierce—“

“Pierce what?” I knew he was talking about Alexander Pierce; he was the Secretary of The World Security Council, but also Hydra’s top agent. That was the kind of shit my clearances got me. “Get out, Brock.”

For whatever reason, he listened. No doubt he was only on the other side of the wall, but that was fine with me. He was an irritant and a leech. I didn’t need him ogling me when I was trying to stitch together The Asset’s rock hard bicep.

“YA ne mogu yego terpet’. Tak ili inache, yemu vsegda udayetsya oboyti menya.” I can’t stand him. Somehow, though, he always manages to be around me. I finished washing off his arm and then rummaged through the supplies on the cart. I picked up antibiotic ointment. It wasn’t great, but it would do. “I’m going to be honest, this is going to sting, too. But I really don’t want you to end up with an infection. A bullet, all this dirt. Shit, it’s like, me against the world trying to take care of you and keep you healthy.”

He was so ripped and built; fuck, he was like, the epitome of bodily perfection. I gently applied the ointment to the wound. Again, he didn’t flinch. When I was finished, I circled around him to look at him. I wanted to be honest. “He didn’t bring me anything to numb it. And putting stitches in without anything is going to be a bitch.”

He nodded.

“I just want you to know. I’ll do my best and I’ll tell you what I’m doing.” I hesitated, again tucking the loose strand of hair behind my year. “If it’s too much, tell me and I’ll stop.”

He looked into my eyes, seemingly captivated by the simple movement of me touching my hair. “YA doveryayu tebe, Anelisa.” I trust you, Anelise.

My cheeks reddened. I moved back to his side and carefully threaded the hooked needle with the surgical silk. Fuck, I didn’t want to do this to him. It was going to suck and he needed more than a dozen stitches. That meant it would suck even more.

He tilted his head to me, craning his neck to look at me. His whisper was more like a soft exhale. “It’s okay.”

I squeezed the edges of the wound together. “Okay…deep breath.” When I saw his chest rise up, I plunged the needle into his flesh.

His metal fist clenched and his shoulders tightened, but he didn’t move. I barely heard him breathe ‘fuck’ out; the word was the only noise he made.

“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.” I pulled the thread through his skin, then carefully pushed the needle to the flesh on the other side of the wound. The pain was awful. I knew that. But he was holding still like I was only a minor irritant. 

I tried to relax as I worked, focusing my attention on keeping my stitches straight and uniform, and overall just closing up the wound. I poked my tongue out of my lips as I sewed the gash. Not that movement like that actually helped, but for whatever reason, my stitches looked damn good. 

It took a good five stitches, but gradually I relaxed. I started humming—like poking my tongue out, it was just some kind of psychotic habit I’d picked up—and eased the needle in and out of his skin. Maybe his adrenaline had blocked out the pain or maybe he knew the song; either way, his taut muscles loosened. He relaxed.

I was humming Irving Berlin, which was strange, but I kept with it. Ten stitches, hopefully only a handful more to go. And before I knew what I was doing, I was murmuring the words I hummed, the old song that somehow was ingrained in my mind: 

When I'm alone  
With only dreams of you  
That won't come true  
What'll I do?

I tied off the end of the suture and clipped it free. Placing a pad over the stitches to cushion it, I wrapped the wound in clean, white bandages. When I touched him, my hands were gentle. He was still, relaxed. He was still looking at me, but his expression was calm. Curious. I said, “Keep it clean. I want you to sleep on your other arm or on your back if you can. Broken stitches are angry stitches.”

He nodded.

Rumlow stormed into the vault; clearly he’d been listening. “I need to get him out of restraint and back to his…quarters.”

“Great, but I’m going to need to check that wound tomorrow.” I dipped my hands into the bucket, doing the best I could to wash The Asset’s blood off my hands. Drying them on the already bloody towel, I said, “I have to check it for infection.”

“Bullshit.”

“Uh, no, that’s a fact. If you let him get an infection, it’s going to end up in his blood. If it goes to his blood, he’s going to get sepsis and if he gets sepsis, he’s dead in twenty-four hours.” I fluttered my eyelashes innocently. “I get the feeling Pierce won’t like it if he’s dead.”

“If he’s dead, it’s your fault.”

“False. It’s all on you; I told you that I need to watch for infection and if you keep me from doing that and he dies? It’s all on you.”

Rumlow stared at the bandage on The Asset’s arm. He looked up at me and then groaned. “Tomorrow. Four p.m., at the rear elevator on your floor. If you aren’t there at 4:01, then you miss your chance.”

“Fair deal.”

“Okay, we’re done here.” Rumlow nodded to the vault door. “Get out.”

I shrugged and tossed the towel on the table. Before I walked away, I took one final look at The Asset. His eyes were again focused on mine; the intensity of that gaze was enough to make my heart flutter. He was a storm of conflict. I could feel his uncertainty and confusion; the pent up rage that he tried to hold back. I smiled at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Keep that bandage clean and no pressure on my stitches. You owe me for every one that breaks.”

He didn’t respond.

I’d have to be okay with that. I smiled at him again, awkwardly raising my hand up in a motionless goodbye, and then headed towards the vault door.

And then he spoke. “Spasibo.” Thank you.

I turned and looked at him again. Those blue eyes…I smiled at him, my own gaze unwavering. “Mne bylo priyatno.” It was my pleasure.


	3. Beyond Blue Eyes

He haunted my dreams. 

I could see his eyes, his sharp cut cheek bones; the look of intensity that rattled me right to my core. I didn’t know him. We’d barely spoken to each other, and yet, when I woke up at two in the morning feverish and heavy with desire for him, I needed a shot of vodka to settle down. As I stood in the middle of the kitchen in my tank top and underwear, bottle in hand and listening to rain spattering against the window, I could have sworn I saw movement on the other side of the glass. A shadow. Nothing more….probably.

Make that two more shots of vodka.

I tried to remind myself that I was overreacting. This was clearly a line I couldn’t cross: he was The Asset and I was an underpaid nurse/paper pusher who drank too much and talked to house plants. It was a fantasy. An orgasm inducing dream—and could never be anything more. Still, I made the effort to not look homeless for my work day. It wasn’t a typical Thursday, after all. A silky white dress with brown polka dots, brown and pink kitten heels, and my auburn hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. I didn’t think I was glamorous by any means, but at least I didn’t look like I’d crawled out of a sleeping bag and into the office.

I was at the elevator ten minutes early and, as I’d anticipated, Rumlow was there early too. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Thought you’d be late.”

“You thought wrong.” I stepped into the elevator beside him and held my medical kit tight at my side—in between us. I wasn’t going to show up unprepared this time.

Rumlow’s eyes were all over my, from the hemline a few inches above my knees to the completely scandal-free neckline. He was practically salivating. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a goddess in a dress like that?”

“I mean, we have a dress code here. Professional. This is professional attire.”

“I’d rather see that professional attire crumpled on the floor.” He ran his hand suggestively over his crotch. “I could make you purr.”

I refused to look at his face. I was too afraid I’d haul off and punch him or, possible, throw up in my mouth. “Flattering as that might be, I’m not really looking for a relationship.”

“It doesn’t have to be a relationship. It can be whatever you want.”

“I like being alone.”

“Why play alone when we could play together?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Let me say it again; a little more clearly this time. I’m. Not. Interested.”

The moment the doors opened, I shoved past him and into the hallway. I had to wait for him to punch in codes and swipe his badge and scan his hand or retina and it felt like we were fucking moving in slow motion. This was bullshit. And now Rumlow was acting like this was one big inconvenience to him—WHY, because I’d turned him down. Ugh, he was such a juvenile. 

When we got to the vault, the door was closed. Rumlow led me through the first barred section and then the other; he waited while one of the guards opened the vault door.

The Asset was again restrained in the examination chair, this time both arms and legs tightly clamped down. His hair was stringy and sweaty, hanging down over his face almost like a veil, and his fists were clenched. He looked angry. His brow furrowed, his pink lips sucked tight against his teeth. I felt like we were walking into the aftermath of something. His rage was at the boiling point, it practically popped and fizzled in my ears like a sparkler in the summertime.

But when he looked at me, he relaxed. His eyes brightened considerably. 

“Let’s get this shit done fast, eh princess?” Rumlow leaned against a bank of safety deposit boxes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m not your princess.” I set my med kit on the metal roll table and smiled at The Asset. “Your eye looks better today. Less swollen.”

Even out of the corner of my eye, I could see him watching me. He was like a cat stalking something: his eyes took in every move I made and, no doubt, his mind was whirling with countermovements and adjustments. Every fiber of his being seemed to be made of intensity and testosterone. And even though he was strapped to that fucking robotic chair-thing, he seemed like he was in complete control. If he was mad—really pissed off—I’d have been willing to bet he could rip out of those restraints and throw someone through the wall.

Jesus, Anelise, calm the fuck down.

“I’m going to look at your eye first. Maybe put some drops in, if that doesn’t bother you. One step at a time, I guess.” I rummaged through the med kit and pulled out a small container of drops. Looking at Rumlow, I said, “If I asked you to make sure he got two drops in his eye every hour, what are the chances you’d listen?”

He glowered at me. “Slim.”

I ignored him, instead focusing on The Asset. “Tilt your head back.”

He complied and I move closer to him, gently brushing his loose hair back from his face. His eyes caught mine immediately, locking me in with the pure, crystal blue hue. He murmured, “Ty vernulsya.” You came back.

I grinned. “On ne mozhet pomeshat’ mne uvidet’ tebya.” He can’t stop me from seeing you.

Ugh, that shit was too bold and I wanted to pull it right back in my mouth. Jesus. I quickly changed the subject. “Has your eye been bothering you? Itchy or bleary or anything?”

“No.”

“Are you stalling, Anelise?” Rumlow was perked up like a cobra ready to strike. “Because if you are—“

“Yes, yes, I’m stalling because I love the decor of abandoned bank vaults. I’m wondering if I can get a similar ambiance in my townhouse.” I rolled my eyes. “Is there like, a light switch you can flip on? I just want to check his cornea for abrasions.”

“That sounds made up.”

“Mmm, not really. I mean, sure, if you want to let him have an abrasion that gets infected, infection goes to the blood, blood goes to the brain—“

He stormed over to me, dramatically flipping a switch on the upper console of the chair apparatus. The upper portion lit up with antiseptic, white light—like sitting in the dentist chair or in the middle of an operating room. He smirked. “Is that better, your worship?”

I didn’t answer. I was too busy trying to get a good look at The Asset’s eye; the light above was bold but awkwardly positioned, like it was supposed to help standing someone next to the apparatus, and not actually the person constrained in it. I tucked the eye drop vial under my arm and pressed the fingertips of both my hands to the side of his face. “Here, just turn your head this way—“

It was like I had touched a hot stove. The pads of my fingers went numb and for a moment, my vision whited out completely. I saw nothing but brilliant, glowing light; it opened up like a curtain being pulled back on a stage. My mind was on fire, I was seeing images I couldn’t explain. The landscape outside the door was flying past, I could only see mountains and snow. I was thrown forward, someone was calling my name.

No, not my name. His name. Someone was calling his name.

His hands were on the rail; he could almost reach the outstretched hand…

And then a jolt.

The feeling of falling.

And then—

I stumbled back from the chair, the eye drop bottle slipping from under my arm and rolling to the side of the platform. His eyes were still on mine, his mouth open like he’d just sucked in a breath. His lips trembled. I felt his panic. He said, “YA sdelal tebe bol’no?”

Did I hurt you?

I regained composure quickly; I had to reel in my emotions like I did when the woman came to my door and announced Pietro was dead. It was easier to lock things inside. “I’m fine…I just…bumped my arm, that’s all.”

He didn’t look convinced.

I leaned over to pick up the eye drops; his fingertips brushed against my bare leg as I wobbled unsteadily on my heels. My cheeks flushed and the warmth seemed to rocket down my body and settle in my low abdomen. It was just a touch, barely anything at all. But I wanted him to put his hands on my skin, to take his hand and tangle his fingers through my hair—

Jesus.

I cleared my throat nervously and firmly held onto the bottle. “Okay, let’s try this again. Sorry, I’m clumsy.”

He held still while I tilted his head back, this time with one hand, and with the firm pressure of my fingertips guided him into better position. His eyes were wide…almost…innocent. The dark lashes were such a contrast to his clear blue eyes. It was like looking at the shallows of the Caribbean: just the feeling of it being the clearest, most prime example of blue a person’s brain could handle. 

And, on the other hand, his injured eye was way more red and angry than the other. I chewed on my bottom lip. Well, in lieu of medicated contact lenses or, AN ACTUAL DOCTOR, I was left to my own devices. “I’m going to put a couple drops in your eye. It won’t hurt. It should help clear out the redness and soothe it a little. You probably just got some…I don’t know, rubble in it and it’s just angry. It’s all good.”

He watched me closely, his eyes more transfixed on my exposed neck and collarbones, but he held perfectly still while I put in the drops. My hand slid down his face, almost cradling his cheek. “I mean, it’d be ideal if you could put these in, say, every four to six hours, but even a little is better than none.”

Rumlow piped up from the vault door. “Do you really need to hover over him like that? I mean, come on, you’re a liability. He could snap that slender, silky neck of yours with one hand.”

I snorted. “Yeah, let me just hang from the ceiling and drop these in his eyeball. I’m not giving him a lap dance. You get a male doctor down here and he’s going to do the same thing.”

The Asset’s lips almost—almost—seemed to perk up in a half grin. It was brief; but I was sure I’d seen it.

I dropped the vial back in the med kit and turned to his arm. “I’m just going to change the bandages for you, check you for infection. Easy day, my friend.”

I heard a strange, beeping noise from Rumlow’s direction. I looked up at him.

He looked surprised, too. Unhooking a pager from his belt—a PAGER? Really??—he glanced at the readout. “This has precedence over this little sick call. I’ll be right back.”

Once he was out of the vault and I’d heard the iron doors slam shut—first one, then two—behind him, I started unwinding the bandage from The Asset’s arm. “It must really be important if he doesn’t want to argue with me over staying here alone.”

I didn’t expect him to answer. But then he did, in English: his voice gravelly, somewhat huskier than I’d expected now that he wasn’t mumbling. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

“He’s a pig.”

“Just don’t let him get you alone.”

There was anger in his voice, but at the same time it was soft; just on the edge of concern. This ripped, muscle laden man that had be restrained was warning me. Protecting me.

With the last bandage removed, the sight of his arm jolted me back into reality. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, chewing on the tender flesh. I tasted my cinnamon lip gloss. “Well…”

His eyes were fixated on my lips, clearly on the way I ran my teeth across the skin. He mumbled, “They drag me out of my cell every day. Work me. Exercise me.”

“Fucking Rumlow.” I counted the broken stitches—four—and looked at the red, someone pus flecked, flesh. “I can fix this.”

“I can’t be fixed.”

“Well, I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my damnedest.” I rolled the dirty bandages up and circled back around him. I cupped my hand over his metal hand. “No refunds, though. I mean, I’m a nurse. A doctor would have been better.”

The placement of my hand seemed to startle him, as if he’d expected me to be repelled by the metal. He looked from my hand and then at me, his eyes full of intensity; it was like he could look into my eyes and see into my soul. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else here but you.”

My cheeks reddened and I straightened up, retreating to the med kit. This was a fantasy. This was something that was never going to happen and if I looked into those blue eyes too much, let his words melt into me like thick chocolate from a sauce pan…well, I was going to be disappointed. I was tired of loss and disappointment; I was tired of always losing out on everything. He was The Asset. I was the poisoned child: I’d lost my brother. My family, my home. Everything.

“I don’t think it’s like, a raging infection or anything. Just a little penicillin—oh, shit, are you allergic to penicillin?”

“To…what?”

His eyes looked so sad. I smiled at him, pushing the roller cart closer to the chair and lining up my stitch kit. “We’re getting good at this now. Though, I distinctly remember telling you that you owed me for each broken stitch. I count four.”

“What do you want?” There was a lilt to this voice, something I hadn’t heard before.

I pretended to consider it. “I mean…I mean, clearly, there’s just so much. Do you smile, though? Because I’ll consider us even for a smile.”

He studied me. There was no physical reaction to me poking around his wound, no gasp or cursing, not even the slightest twitch in his eye. “I haven’t smiled in a long time.”

“It’s okay. I usually don’t either…I made an exception for you.” I shifted my weight from one hip to the other. “I’m alone a lot. I recently bought some plants to like…I have no idea, maybe not look like I’m alone all the time? It’s going well. So far, I’ve only lost a zinnia. Okay, three zinnia. Okay, stop badgering me—it was like, five.” 

He exhaled sharply. And when he spoke, there was something about his voice that I hadn’t heard before…not from him. I hadn’t heard that hopelessness—that deep, burning feeling of loss—since my mother was dying. He said, “My mother loved zinnias.”

We both fell silent. It was mostly comfortable, but with an air of uncertainty; he seemed like he was struggling with something. Maybe a lot. It didn’t matter to me: he didn’t have to talk. Just being near him, close like this and alone…I just felt relaxed. I felt safe with him.

I felt whole.

I idly began humming again while I stitched his arm. It was the same song again, Irving Berlin. And, again, he seemed to relax with each note, each minor key that I hummed. 

What’ll I do  
with just  
a photograph  
to tell, my troubles to….

He craned his head to the side, trying to look at me, and then whispered, “That song.”

But before I could answer, Rumlow stormed back into the vault. He looked like a little girl who just had her birthday parade rained on and the circus tents set on fire. “Hurry the fuck up and go. He has shit to do.”

“I need him to have a shot of penicillin now and then another in six to eight hours.” I clipped the end of the suture and turned to my med kit. Injection time. “He broke some stitches and there’s…ah, more puss than I’d like to see.”

Rumlow seemed to consider it. Then he frowned and started throwing things back in my med kit. “So, it’s infected.”

“Sort of.”

“No, not sort of.” He snapped up as if someone had just shot him in the ass with a rubber band gun. “Either he has an infection or not. There’s no maybe. No sort of.”

“There’s pus. So, yeah, sort of infected.” I filled the needle with penicillin and shrugged. “I mean, I’ve definitely seen worse. Did you know, in the 1860s people thought that pus was a good sign of healing. They’ put it everywhere. The’d poke at wounds until they got pus-filled and draining all over the place because they thought that was a good thing.”

“You’d better give him a double dose or some shit, because he’s not getting another shot in six to eight hours. And you don’t get access to him tomorrow.”

I held the syringe in one hand and gently toughed his bicep with my other, squeezing gently. “Quick pinch for the needle, okay? Then done.”

He nodded.

I glanced up at Rumlow for a moment, cocking my eyebrow upwards. “I’m not shitting you. If he doesn’t get antibiotics or this infection gets worse….I mean, that’s basically as bad as jabbing it with a dirty stick back in the 1860s. Even simple infections can lead to death.”

“We have other handlers who will inject him.”

I gave the shot of penicillin as quickly as I could; he barely flinched. He was too busy glaring at Rumlow—and I could feel the rage boiling up inside him.

His voice was low, almost a hiss. “No.”

“I’m sorry, did you fucking talk without being spoken to?” Rumlow held his hand to his ear, mocking him. “I think you know better than that.”

“I’m comfortable with her.”

Rumlow stormed forward, his arm out stretched to strike him. “I don’t think your comfort has anything to do with this. I don’t care if someone has to pound penicillin into your arm with a fucking rock. Hydra will handle this, like we always do. She’s nothing. She’s not part of this.”

Before Rumlow could reach him, I darted around the chair and blocked him. “Back up. He’s under my care right now and you stand the fuck back. I’m not finished.”

“I’ll drag you out of here by your throat.”

“Fucking try.”

The vault door abruptly swung open and four uniformed men streamed in, followed by a red-hair, ruddy complected man in a suit. He raised his hand up to Rumlow; it was clearly a command because the bastard dropped back and away from me.

The man smiled warmly, extending his hand to me. “I wanted to come down and personally thank you for your your service to Hydra. Brock has kept me updated to your work down here and, frankly, I’m impressed. As I’m sure you can imagine, The Asset is more often that not combative against medical personnel.”

“Kindness goes a long way” I awkwardly put my hand out and let him shake it. My body was flooded with cold, my mind blazed visions that were too fast to keep up with. This man was hiding something, there was evil behind that too perfect smile.

Alexander Pierce.

His grip was too tight. He tugged me forward, closer to him, and peered at my face. Squinted. I could feel his pulse rate increase; his was trying to mask his actual reaction. But I still felt it. Hatred. Disgust.

He said, “Anelise Maximov.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” His smile widened. His was like a shark, a wolf who hid his dagger teeth behind his jowls. “And despite the progress you’ve made, we won’t need you anymore. The Asset has a mission to complete.”

“He needs medicine.”

“And he’ll get it. But for you, you can go back to what you were hired to do.” He pulled me away from The Asset, directing me towards the uniforms and Rumlow behind him. “You’ll never have to think about this situation again.”

I tried to lock my knees to keep from being pushed to the door, but Rumlow grabbed my elbow and yanked me to him. 

Pierce still had hold of my hand. “Anelise…Miss Maximov. Such lovely green eyes and so…familiar…”

He dropped me hand and cocked his head to the door. Before I could say anything, before I could even form a response my mind, Rumlow dragged me to the door and shoved me forward.

Before the vault door slammed shut, I saw him: The Asset, his eyes wide, his face frozen in horror. Even this far away, I could feel his helplessness, a twist of emotions and the adrenaline ramping up to burst out of his constraints. He opened his mouth to speak—

—And the door clanked shut, the sound deafening and vibration of metal against metal shaking the floor beneath my feet. Rumlow cranked the circular lock, almost like a ship’s wheel, until it was tight. Immoveable.

He got right up in my face, his breath foul, and clamped his hand on my shoulder. “If you ever mention him? I’ll kill you myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Anyone out there??


	4. Alone I Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this...but do you guys like it? Any thoughts or comments?

I tried to forget about him. I fumbled through reordering first aid kit inventory; I helped set an ankle bone with the MD, after Jimi from the mail room slid down a flight of stairs. Then there were the yearly physicals, two tampon requests, a bloody nose, and application of burn cream after someone dumped hot coffee down their shirt. I was busy. Distracted.

Yet, any moment of downtime—any time that I allowed my mind to drift—he was there. Did he wonder about me? Probably not. Was his arm healing okay? Did further infection set in? All I could hope was that, maybe, in some way or another he’d felt kindness from me; that I had somehow made an impact on his life. First do no harm.

But without him, I felt incomplete. There was something about him that was electrifying, some kind of magnetic pull. Part of me died along with Pietro and now…or rather, again, I felt alone. I wanted to reach out and physically shake myself, but that was ridiculous. It really was: I’d seen him all of two times. We’d barely talked. I shouldn’t be upset and I shouldn’t mourn the loss of a man whose name I didn’t even know.

Yet I did. And it hurt me to the core.

After a week of listlessness in my office, I took a different route home once I clocked out. There really wasn’t a whole lot on my agenda tonight: water the plants. Binge watch some reality television. Maybe paint my toenails. I was pissy and miserable and in true Sokovian fashion, I was ready to drink my sorrows away.

There was a tidy little bar a few blocks away from the Hydra building. Most patrons came in for shitty fish and chips or a meatball sandwich. Sometimes I did too; but tonight, I went straight for the bar. Happy Friday to me.

I didn’t even look at the drink menu. “Flaming Ferrari.”

The bartender nodded. “Rough week?”

I shook my hair loose from the tight bun at the base of my neck. “Rough life.”

Flaming Ferrari was a dumb ass name for a fantastic drink and this guy served it up right. Mostly vodka, a little grenadine and a little coconut cream: and then lit on fire. That was how I felt. Maybe not sweet like coconut cream, but definitely rough like vodka and on fire like the flame. And I really just wanted it to all go away.

He set the drink down in front of me and used a lighter to set it ablaze. I raised the glass up to him. “Za zda-ró-vye.” To your health.

I threw back the shot and as I did, my eyes caught the tail end of a news report. Video footage of a multi-car pileup on the freeway. Two men and a woman were running INTO the chaos and not away from it. And the figure behind them—a masked figure, dressed in all black with long brown hair—was hauntingly familiar.

The Asset.  
“Shit.” I set the shot glass down harder on the bar than I meant to; the bartender looked irritated. “Sorry…uh, can I have another?”

He nodded.

“I heard the news today,” a man next to me spoke up, leaning towards me somewhat conspiratorially, “oh boy.”

I glanced at him. His ball cap was pulled down too low to see his eyes, but I assumed he was talking to me. I threw back the shot as soon as the bartender pushed it forward. “Do you just wander around looking for situations to reference Beatles songs?”

“It fits. That shit went down yesterday. They’re still reporting it today.”

“Guess there’s nothing else to talk about.”

He chuckled. “I’m Sam.”

“I’m not interested.” I cocked my head towards the bartender. “Can I get a gin and ginger ale?”

The man next to me, Sam, spoke up, “Make it two—this round is on me.”

“Well, as much as I appreciate that, I’m still not interested. I’m not looking for a good time or company or any of that shit.”

“I didn’t say you had to be. I’m just making conversation.” He nodded towards the television. “I heard that the guy in the car was Steve Rogers.”

“Okay.”

“You know, Captain America?”

I waited as the bartender slid the glass to me and took a quick drink. “I’m familiar, but not really a fan.”

“Come on, it’s unAmerican to not be a fan of Captain America.”

“I’m not native to the country, thanks for asking, and I’m sure he’s a great guy. But I wasn’t particularly excited about what happened in Sokovia.” I took a bigger drink. With my other hand, I dug my fingernails into my palm until my flesh seared with pain. “People were killed.”

“And people were saved. That’s a good thing.”

I snorted. “Tell that to the people who lost their bro…families.”

He took a sip from his glass. “Can I ask you a hypothetical question?”

God, he was irritating. If these were his pickup lines, I had a feeling he went home alone more often than not. But the drink was good. He at least had until my glass was empty. “Sure, why not. I have a feeling you’d ask even if I declined.”

“What would you do if you had the power to control minds?”

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “Why don’t you try to read my mind and guess what I’m thinking?”

“Not necessarily read minds, but…you know, feel things when you touch people?”

I stiffened. This had gone from a hypothetical question to being too damn personal. And I wasn’t in the mood for shit.

There were parts of my adolescence that I didn’t remember. Years that Pietro and I had been together, yet somehow separated; some mechanism in my mind blocked that time out completely. I only remembered the feeling of panic and depression—and pain. Lots of pain. But, somehow, deep inside my brain, I knew that there was a defined split in my life: the before and the after. I remembered life in Sokovia before that time. And I remembered life afterwards, of going and getting a degree and losing my brother. Everything in between, though, was gone.

I chose my words carefully. “I’m sure that would be equally a gift and a curse.”

“Interesting answer. Want to elaborate?”

“No.”

He was clearly pretending to consider my response. “Just one more question. Maybe two.”

I snorted into my glass as I took a long drink. “How about you leave me alone after that?”

“Fair enough.” He lifted his hat up just a bit; enough to look at me with big brown eyes. “Does the name Bucky Barnes mean anything to you?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Now go away.”

“How about The Winter Soldier?”

I almost dropped the glass. I looked away from him and stared down at the bar, trying to gather my thoughts. I only knew about The Asset from working at Hydra. I’d heard things. But to everyone else—even the highest intelligence operators—he was nothing more than a rumor. A ghost. I knew he existed because I’d seen him. I had touched him.

This guy shouldn’t know.

“You look scared, Anelise.” He set his glass down on the bar. “Why’s that?”

He knew my name. Jesus Christ, how did he know who I was?

Fuck.

I tried to reel in the growing panic as I pulled out my wallet, but my hands were trembling. I knew he saw it, he had to have. I looked like I was having a fucking seizure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Really? Huh, that’s interesting.” He cocked his head towards the television. “That’s The Winter Soldier. He killed the head of Shield. Murdered him.”

I pulled two twenty dollar bills out of my wallet and threw them on the bar. It was way more than my drinks cost, but who cared. My chest throbbed with panic, tightening and fluttering, and I was starting to feel lightheaded. It was a sure sign of a panic attack—my heart was skipping beats left and right. Jesus. I had to get out of there. “Keep the change.”

Without turning around, I ran out of the bar. The man was trouble—and I wanted as far away from him as possible. 

****

Awake.

My eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness; the clock read 1:30am. Something had woken me up. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d heard anything, but I’d been jolted out of slumber nonetheless. No dream. No smell or sound. I couldn’t put my finger on it….something in the atmosphere felt different. Not necessarily a bad different, but it was there. I couldn’t shake it. 

I shut my eyes and immediately opened them again. The feeling, the burning inside me, was still there. Sleep wasn’t going to happen. I strained my ears and held my breath, as if that would somehow help me hear better. There was nothing; not even the sounds of cars puttering through the complex. This was all in my head. It had to be; it was all the drinks…the drinks I’d had yesterday…

Or stress. Definitely stress.

I shoved the covers back and padded out of the bedroom in my bare feet. Maybe just a quick walk through of the downstairs, you know, on my way to get a quick glass of water. Or a shot of vodka. Maybe two shots. Maybe just…turn on all the lights.

At the bottom of the stairs, I turned down the short hallway and around the corner into the living room. I flipped on the light switch—

—And saw The Asset. 

He was seated in an armchair, staring at me through his long, dark lashes. A scoped rifle was leaning against his thigh and, in his hand, he was idly tossing a thick, black handled knife. He was so expressionless, so cold—but his gaze was intense.

He was silent.

I slowly dropped my hand from the light switch and edged forward, creeping over to him. If he wanted me dead, he could have killed me the second I entered the room. I didn’t think that was why he was here, though; I never got that impression from him when we’d been alone. Not when he was restrained in the vault and not now.

Moving slowly and deliberately, I sat on the couch nearest him. Perching on the edge I studied his face: the skin around his eyes was smeared in blank paint as if in an attempt to camouflage the soft skin. It didn’t detract from the startling blue of his eyes, though. They were intense, focused on me as if I was the only person who mattered. His gaze held me in place.

We stared at each other for several moments; maybe longer. It was easy to lose track of time fixated on those eyes. Emotion was radiating off of him like energy: Loss. Fear. Confusion.

Rage. It was still there, embedded deep inside him, but vivid curiosity seemed to overpower it.

He finally spoke, his voice softer than I expected. “You aren’t afraid of me.”

It was a statement, not a question. I shook my head. “I never have been.”

“Everyone is afraid of me.”

“You’ve never given me a reason to be scared.”

He fell silent again. His eyes still locked on mine, he sheathed the knife at his hip. The gun was still in his reach, but I knew he wouldn’t use it. He hadn’t brought the gun or the knife for me. He was clearly upset…something happened before he got here. Something shook him.

I exhaled slowly, trying to stay calm. If I was calm, he was calm. “Are you thirsty?”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’m asking you if you want something to drink.”

He looked puzzled, his brow knitting down in a deep frown. His entire demeanor changed and in that instant, a shadow seemed to cross his face. I’d seen this look before. I’d seen it in my brother, back when we were locked in separate cells; when I needed him—his protection—and he couldn’t get to me. 

I bit the inside of cheek until I tasted blood. I didn’t want to think about that…and I wouldn’t. Dwelling on what happened wouldn’t change it.

“Well, I need a drink. Two glasses maybe?” I stood slowly and cocked my head towards the kitchen. “You can come if you want. 

“Sit down.” His voice was louder this time; it wasn’t a request, it was a command.

I sat. I still didn’t think he was here to hurt me, but it reasoned that it was better to keep things light. Easy. Let him lead. “Okay. You don’t need your gun, though. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You’ve mentioned that before. I’m a rebel like that, though.”

He fell silent again, his fingers resting on the stock of the gun. The pads of his fingertips pressed into the cool black exterior. There was something intoxicating about it; something about the way that he had command of that gun, the way he controlled it, was mesmerizing. He caught me watching his hands. “I’m not here to kill you.”

“I assumed that. If you were, you’d have shot me before I turned on the light. But you’re here for something…I mean, I guess. Unless you just really like hanging out in my living room.”

“I don’t trust Pierce or Rumlow. The things they tell me…” He abruptly looked away from me. “So, I’m here.”

“I’m glad.”

He looked at me again, his eyes wide and almost…innocent. I could feel his hesitation and, deeper than that, an almost magnetic desire. Not just attraction or even lust for that matter…but…a yearning. Desperate, palpable yearning. My breath caught in my throat; I wanted to say something more to him, to let him know I was okay and, yeah, Rumlow scared the piss out of me. But the words didn’t come.

His voice was low, almost a soft murmur, and a velvety baritone. “In the vault, when you touched me. You saw something.’

I swallowed hard. “I…uh…I don’t know.”

“You said I didn’t hurt you.”

“You didn’t. I swear. I just,” I shrugged. “I don’t know what I saw. Flashes. Almost like a residual memory; like a record that skips and keeps replaying the same part of a song over and over again.”

His gaze was so steady that it seemed like he was trying to look right into my brain to see for himself. “Tell me.”

I shifted. This was ridiculous: an assassin, armed to the hilt, in my living room—me in my hot pink panties, white tank top, and messy bun—and he only wants to know what I saw inside his mind. There was more to it; there had to be. But I couldn’t figure out what it was. Clearing my throat, I said, “Everything was happening fast. I was inside, looking out, and then I was falling. All I could see was the white around me and the darkness below; and all I heard was a name being called. Screamed…but it wasn’t my name. I…I think it was yours.”

His cheeks paled considerably and he looked away from me. It was an expression I couldn’t quite read: almost like he’d just accidentally stomped on a puppy or something. Horror. Sadness. Yet, there was still that burn of yearning and…almost…a feeling of being lost.

“Anelise.”

The way he said my name sent electricity through my body. Every cell seemed like it was on fire.

“I want you to read me.” He blurted the words out and shifted, his legs brushing against mine. “Whatever it is you do, I want you to see inside my mind. I want to know…I want to know why I’m broken.”

“I don’t know if I can do it again. It’s not exactly something I know how to use or control or anything.” I bit my lip, nibbling on the tender flesh. “It doesn’t work on every person. And…um…I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You couldn’t.”

My cheeks heated up; yet another blush. He had to know the effect he had on me…right? I said, “I’ll try.”

His steely blue eyes searched mine, his gaze locked so steadily that my breath caught in my throat. “What do I have to do?”

“Maybe stand up? Just turn towards me,” I waited while he rigidly stood up, “and relax.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. Nodded.

I wasn’t convinced this guy knew how to relax. I stood up and faced him; immediately I felt dwarfed by his height. He was at least half a foot taller than me and his shoulders seemed insanely broad and defined. His physique wasn’t bulky or brutish, but more like a finely honed and crafted weapon.

Which is exactly what he was.

I hesitated for a beat and then lifted my hands to his face, trailing my fingertips up his cheekbones until the pads of my fingers rested against his temples. He was sweating. His pulse was pounding so hard that I could feel it surging through my own veins. “Just relax. You don’t have to think about anything or do anything. Just focus on me.”

He murmured more to himself than to me, “That’s all I can do.”

I could lose myself in his big blue eyes; in the sound of his heart racing. I could feel the brokenness—but it wasn’t a defect like he implied. They’d broken him. That bastard Pierce and all his fucking predecessors beat him and used him and hurt him to the point that he’d lost himself.

No. But he hadn’t. I could also see in him memories of the past, of the smell of apple pie baking in a cast iron stove. Of the loud, crowded streets of Brooklyn and walking to and from and to and from the house to work and back again so many times that he got blisters from his shoes. “You gave them to Steve.” 

I mumbled the words more to myself and, in fact, I didn’t realize I’d said them out loud until his eyes widened. “Gave what?”

“The shoes. They were too tight on you anyway and when you dropped out of school to work construction, you needed something better…and then when you were drafted, they gave you boots.” My vision clouded into sight that wasn’t my own. I saw a train and saw him falling; I felt the pain as his arm shattered, as they fixed him and poisoned him and tried to obliterate every piece that had been who he was. The lives he’d taken, all the blood that was on his hands…it weighed down on him. It suffocated him. And I saw…I saw…

I barely felt the tears trickling down my cheeks. Everything they’d done. I saw it; my soul felt it. And he fought them, God, how he’d tried to fight them and end his torment. But he wouldn’t die. He’d tried. Why can’t I die? The scars on his chest, the mottled flesh where he’d tried to dig out the metal plate and arm; it burned in me. They’d mocked him. They stomped on him and ripped his brain out, only to shove it back in and leave him as a shell. Blood and fire; fear and longing and rage. There was so much rage.

I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t take it anymore—seventy years of torture and terror echoed in every beat of his heart. He hated everything about himself. The blood had long ago washed away, but he still felt it. Saw it. It still burned into him.

“You…” His voice trembled. “You saw the things I did.”

I swallowed hard. I opened my eyes and looked at him, sliding my hands down to his bristly cheeks. I cradled his face; I shook my head. “I saw what they did to you.”

His eyes were intense. With my hands pressed to his skin, I felt the reverberations of his mind, I could see the realization in his eyes that I knew. I KNEW. He was tortured and broken. For seventy years, the man he’d been was locked away inside himself. The Winter Soldier—the Asset—was a killing machine, a creation of Hydra. And knowing what he’d done, remembering the faces of every person he’d hurt, was the worst punishment that could ever be dealt.

I couldn’t stop the flow of tears. I threw my arms around him and hugged him, clinging to him like I was trying to hold on to my own soul. “You deserved so much better.”

He didn’t say anything. His hands then slid gently around me, cradling me against his body. He was like coiled steel, but at the same time still just so strong and protective. I felt safe in his arms. That fear, that flailing that my soul seemed to be trapped in—an endless cycle of terror and loneliness and uncertainty—was gone when he held me. For the first time, I felt like I was where I was supposed to be.

I clung to him like my life depended on it, but after a few moments our embrace broke. Still wrapped in his arms, I straightened up and stared into his big, blue eyes. Anything I wanted to say to him evaporated completely out of my mind. Everything around me seemed to dissipate; it was just me and the Asset. That was all that mattered. I didn’t even know his name…and I didn’t need to.

He leaned forward, his lips roughly brushing against mine. It was so fast, so sudden, that it was over before my brain actually caught up. Something immediately changed in his eyes; he panicked, pulling all his emotions and desires and all his longing back into him.

He pulled away. Snatching up the rifle, he walked to the door, hesitating in the threshold to look at me. “Stay away from Hydra.”

And then he was gone.


	5. Somebody Told Me

My lips burned every time I thought about him. The kiss had been rough and somewhat awkward, but it only heightened my desire; this attraction I couldn’t shake even though I knew I shouldn’t want him like I did. Hydra wanted me away from him. He wanted me away from Hydra.

And then there was that weirdo at the bar. Stan. No, Sam.

Fuck all this.

Being in my condo only made me think about The Asset: the things I should have said, like can I take a look at your arm and make sure you’re healing okay? Or, hey, why don’t you stay a little longer and bang me like a screen door in a hurricane? God, it wasn’t just a physical attraction to him—there was something else, something that pulled me to him. The way he’d held me; the way our heartbeats seemed to mirror each other. I’d never felt whole before, yet, in his arms I was complete. Everything felt okay and safe and like he was supposed to be there. I wanted that; I wanted him.

I was setting myself up for heartbreak and I knew it. He’d panicked after the kiss, he’d abruptly left. No murmurs of passion of promises. The things I’d seen in his mind absolutely broke my heart. He’d been somebody once and they’d taken that away from him. There was never a choice, never an option for him.

And if he had a choice, between me and freedom, I wasn’t convinced that he’d choose me.

It was thoughts like that that drove me out of the condo and into the park Sunday afternoon. Thoughts of him and his blue eyes was driving me insane, both physically and mentally. I could easily convince myself that he wanted me as much as I wanted him; and then in turn I could refute all that and remind myself I was overthinking everything. As usual.

It was one kiss. And this was probably just some kind of crush, a little harmless crush on a man I could never have.

I was on my third cigarette, just chain smoking away like some kind of…heartbroken teenager. I had to get my shit together. There was work—in two days, I had to go back to work—and I couldn’t sit around fawning after this man. Was there some kind of attraction? Yes. Maybe. But then, I could always be imagining it.

And then I felt something. Something odd, a feeling washing over my as if eyes were locked on my figure. It wasn’t the intense, penetrating gaze of the Winter Soldier. It wasn’t curious or confused; there was no repressed rage in this person. Yet I felt them. Nearby. 

Someone was watching me.

I lit another cigarette. My hands were already shaking; fuck that. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Rumlow and, most of the time, my cold, irritated scowl turned people the other way if they tried to approach me. But even with a cursory glance around, I didn’t see anyone looking at me. There were people everywhere. It was a nice day, I couldn’t blame them.

I took a sharp drag from the cigarette and then dropped it on the ground, grinding it out with my foot. Now seemed like a good time to leave. Usually I cut down alleys and parking lots to get home, but fuck that shit. Even in broad daylight—feeling like someone was measuring my every move—I’d stick to the main roads. It would ten extra minutes, but I’d be alive.

If I was trying to play it cool, I was failing miserably and I knew it. Walking too fast, my head sweeping from left to right and back again; it made me dizzy. Shit. I didn’t hear footsteps behind me, but that feeling of being watched was still prickling up the hairs on the back of my neck. 

I walked faster. At this point, I was almost at a run.

When I saw the condo, I felt better. Just a little further to go and I could drown my sorrows in vodka and a hot bath. Going out had been a mistake, clearly. My paranoia got the better of me and that was fucking ridiculous.

I rounded the corner to my front door; immediately slamming into a man. His chest was solid and muscular, his hair light brown and a little on the spiky, fluffy side. I was staring into big blue eyes that reminded me of asset, except this man looked too pure. Too perfect.

“Excuse me.” I tried to walk past him. “I didn’t see you.”

“Anelise?” He touched my arm, his expression some kind of combination of awe and concern. “I’m Steve Rogers. I need to talk to you.”

I shoved him away from me. My strength surprised me; he stumbled backwards a few steps. “Get the fuck away from me. You let my brother get killed.”

“I’m not here to talk about your brother.”

“Well, good, then see we have nothing to discuss.” I pushed past him and shoved my key in my front door. God, if only I had mace or something. I hated Steve Rogers and Captain America. I hated the fact he’d felt it so necessary to ‘save’ Sokovia and I hated that my brother fell in to the noble cause. “So go fuck yourself.”

“I know you’re upset about what happened in Sokovia. But Pietro sacrificed himself to save a child; he was a hero. He did what he felt he needed to do.”

I glared at him. He could take his chiseled face and rock hard abs somewhere else. “Let me say it louder for those in the back: go fuck yourself.”

I went to slam the door in his face, but he reached his arm out. Straight armed, he held it open and tried to catch my gaze with his. “I need to talk to you about James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.”

“I don’t know who the fuck that is.” I used all my body weight to shove him backwards, letting the door snap closed with a satisfying slam. I slid the bolt and chain in place. “Get out of here before I call the cops.”

He pounded on the door. “Anelise, please, let me talk to you. Pietro wanted me to keep you safe.”

Against my better judgement, I unlatched the bolt, but left the chain in place. I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I can’t help you, so go away.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “The Winter Soldier.”

My jaw fell slack and I shut the door in his face. The Winter Soldier; James Buchanan Barnes. One and the same. Of course I knew who Bucky Barnes was, but I hadn’t connected him with the Winter Soldier or Steve Rogers until right now. He’d been one of Captain America’s Howling Commandos; he’d died in 1944.

I swallowed hard. Bucky Barnes was the Asset.

I unlocked the door and opened it all the way. “Come in.”

“Thank you.” He walked into the condo and awkwardly stood in the entryway, his hands shoved in his pockets. “You have a lovely home.”

“Mmmm.” I made a noncommittal noise and closed the door, locking it behind me. “You can sit down.”

He followed me to the couch and sat. “I know he’s been here.”

I sat in the armchair, casually drawing my legs up next to me. “And what if he has? He’s not here now, I mean, feel free to stroll around if you don’t believe me.”

“No no, that’s not what I meant.” He exhaled slowly. “I’ve known him since we were kids; we fought in the war together.”

I still hated this guy. His perfect sandy blond hair, his buff, superhuman build. I wasn’t going to just let him stroll into my condo and be like, yeah, I can tell you all about The Asset. While I’m at it, let’s talk about Hydra.

“I know you work for Hydra. That’s how you met him.”

Fuck.

I picked at a strand of my hair, twirling it around my finger. “I took care of him. I’m a nurse and he had an injury, which required attention.”

“Then why was he here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Anelise.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at me, his eyes intense. “He murdered Nick Fury. He tried to kill me, but I need to find him and help him. When I had nothing, I had Bucky—when my parents died, he was there for me. I have to save him.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know how I can help you. I’ve only seen him at Hydra’s building and they told me that I’d never see him again. I don’t know where he is.”

Steve studied me. He folded his hands in front of him and said, “You’re lying.”

I shrugged.

“He watches you. He’s like a shadow, he moves in and out and you might not even realize it. But he’s here.” Steve shook his head. “Maybe not now, but he will. He’ll come back. He tracks you better than we can.”

I cocked my eyebrow up. “The man at the bar…you sent him to find me.”

Steve shrugged.

I rolled my eyes and leaned back in the chair. “I’m not afraid of him, if that’s why you’re here. He’s never given me a reason to think he’d hurt me.”

“I promised your brother that I would protect you, Anelise.” Steve leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. “I’m not worried about Bucky. It’s Hydra. They took you down to him for a reason; I don’t know why and I’d rather not find out if I can help it. You’re part of this puzzle. I just haven’t figured out how you fit.”

“Are you going to try to keep me away from him, too?” I sucked in a breath. “The Asset? Bucky Barnes?”

“I’m going to do what I have to do in order to keep you safe. And if that means stopping him, then I have to do that too.”

My fingers burned. I wanted to jump across the space between us and grab onto his face to read his thoughts; to figure out what it was that he wasn’t telling me. Instead, I tucked my hair behind my ear. I said, “I’ll protect him however I can. Even if it’s against you.”

“I know.” He smiled at me; it wasn’t exactly the response I’d expected. “I’m not your enemy, Anelise. I’m your ally. And I want to keep Bucky safe as much as you do, but I’m not going to let you get caught up in this. I’ve been fighting Hydra for over seventy years. You need to stay away from them. They get what they want and they don’t care who they hurt in the process.”

I snorted. “Look, I don’t know how things work for you superhuman World War 2 veterans, but some of us here have to work to live.” I motioned around the condo. “Shelter, food, clothes; I mean, if I leave Hydra? I’ll be broke in a month. Less time, probably.”

“We can take care of that, too. Tony Stark—“

I held up my hand. “Lemme stop you there. I don’t want your help or Stark’s help or any Avengers help. You want to protect Bucky? Fine, me too. But your ‘help’ has already cost me my brother. I’ll be damned if you take The Asset away from me, too.”

His eyebrow cocked up. “Take him away from you? I’m not trying to do that—I want to save you. And him.”

“I don’t need saved.”

“Well, your brother seemed to think you do.”

My hands were vibrating with heat and anger; I was ready to shove this blue eyed Adonis out on his ass. I balled up my fists, clamping them at my sides to try and hold myself back. “If we go down? Then we’ll go down together. Besides, I’m forbidden to try and find him or interact with him or anything. I’m sure he’s been given the same order and I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

“Fair enough.” Steve stood up and walked to the door. “But if he comes back, I need you to let me know.”

“He won’t.”

“But if he does.” Steve hesitated. “Be careful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments?
> 
> NOTE: Things are going to heat up in the next few chapters.....be warned ;)


	6. Coming Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been MIA---the holidays got my schedule all messed up. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Gonna warn ya now: SMUT AHEAD!!!! shame/noshame ;)

When he came back, he came at night.

I woke up when I felt the bed shift. I already felt his presence, that magnetic draw he had on my mind, and I opened my eyes. 

He was seated on the edge of the bed, his face tilted down, and some kind of automatic weapon strapped to his back. His chest was heaving. His aura was exhaustion and panic; sweat and adrenaline. 

I eased up into a sitting position and reached out, gently touching his elbow. “I’m glad you came back.”

He didn’t respond. His slightly turned his head to me, his long hair falling into his face.

I saw the mask: it covered his face from right below his eyes to his throat. His eyes were again smeared with the black paint, but it didn’t hide the sadness. He looked devastated. It radiated off of him.

“Let me take it off of you.” I reached out and touched my fingertip to the mask. It looked like a muzzle; it seemed almost like that was how it made him feel. I could feel the shame; his conflict and hatred of himself.

His eyes were locked on mine. I scooted closer to him and touched the edge of the mask, working it loose with my fingers. It popped off with a satisfying snap. Seeing his face, bristly cheeks and full, downturned lips, made me smile. “There you are.”

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but he abruptly stopped. Exhaling deeply, he turned his face towards my hand and nuzzled my palm. He seemed to calm down right away: his shoulders slumped, maybe out of exhaustion or relaxation…or both.

With my free hand, I gently brushed his hair away from his face. “I’m going to get you something to eat. And drink. And then you’re going to let me take a look at your stitches.”

His eyes drifted up my body; this time, I could see him taking in my questionable sleeping attire of hot pink panties and a black tank top. He’d fallen silent, his eyes having moved past me to some fixed position on the wall over my shoulder.

I hesitated for a moment, then ran my fingers through his hair and softly caressed his cheek with my thumb; his eyelids fluttered. There was something vulnerable about him. Something soft underneath the leather and straps and weapons. I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I didn’t actually want to know the answers—I just wanted him to stay. I wanted to say the words…but I was terrified he’d just get up and leave again. The thought of rejection…fuck, I couldn’t even think about it.

“Do you want to take a shower?” I let my fingers drift from his hair to his other cheek. “Just relax or something while I heat up some food?”

He didn’t respond right away. When he finally looked at me, his expression was calm and relaxed. His voice was raspy, “I can’t stand being touched…unless it’s by you.”

My heart fluttered in my chest, sending electricity through my body and settling in my low abdomen. Leaning over, I gently pressed my lips to the corner of his mouth. “Then stay.”

He was still. Then he nodded, barely more than dipping his head down and then level again; I could feel the struggle radiating from his body. For him, making a decision he wanted was harder than tunneling through a mountain with a spoon. Whatever happened to him—those flashes I saw when I looked into his mind—broke him. There was a spark in him still, I could feel it; he wanted to be more than he was. He wanted to be the man he’d been before.

I slid my hands into his and urged him towards me. “I’m going to insist you let me see your shoulder first. Nurse’s orders.”

The corners of his mouth twitched up in another almost smile and he let me lead him from the bedroom. The bathroom was my favorite part of the condo: oversized and crafted with white stone and marble. The shower was encased in glass and, next to it, was a separate oval shaped whirlpool tub. The tub was somewhat set back in the marble and had inlaid nooks and shelves: I’d set candles in them. I doubted he wanted candles.

Although that would have been hot.

I shook the thought from my head and, reluctantly, let go of his hands. Flicking the lights on, I motioned to the far side of the room. “You can use the bath or shower, whichever you want. I’ll get you towels.” I pulled a big, fluffy teal towel out of the dark wood cupboard.

When I turned to look at him, he was standing in the center of the room, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His brow was furrowed in a deep frown, but his eyes looked distant…sad.

I set the towel on the counter and swayed close to him, running my fingertips across his metal arm. “I’ll check your arm and…ah…get you something to eat while you…do your thing.”

“Does it bother you?”

I glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were on my form next to him and the scowl was gone…but it was replaced by an expression I hadn’t seen before. He looked nervous, almost like he’d set himself up for my response and was bracing himself for it.

And it hit me: his arm. I’d touched the metal arm, not the flesh arm, and he was in the early stages of humiliation. I didn’t have to search his mind with mine to know he hated it. Maybe he thought it defined him; he clearly hadn’t been born with it and it represented the parts of himself that he hated. It was regret and disappointment and failure and fear and rage all at once.

I tilted my head towards him, resting my cheek against his metal shoulder. “No. It’s just you.”

He exhaled deeply, then moved just enough to set his knife on the counter. The gun strapped to his back was next—he’d left a rifle in my bedroom—and then he started unbuckling the straps on his tunic. 

I had to look away; his ripped abs and well defined shoulders and chest made my pulse pound between my legs. Pretending to busy myself—more like distract myself from his slow undressing—I pulled a med kit out of the cabinet under the sink.

He had his shirt and boots off when I turned back to him. I cleared my throat nervously. “Did any doctors look at this since I stitched you up?”

He shook his head.

“No more shots?”

He again shook his head. “I did my best to do it on my own.”

“Come here.” I led him over to the edge of the bathtub and nodded for him to sit down. I’d braced myself for red, swollen horror…but I was surprised by what I saw. “Oh, see, it looks okay.”

I turned the overhead tub light on to get a better look at his wound. The wound looked really good; well healed. The stitches were still in, which was a problem: his skin was growing over it. “Well, love, you did a fantastic job. No infection, no swelling or redness or drainage. I’ll just snip these stitches out for you and give you a clean bill of health.”

Walking back to the counter, I rummaged through the medical kit until I found alcohol wipes, scissors, and clamps to pull out the sutures. I could feel his eyes on me as I moved; I wondered what he was thinking. What he wanted.

I smiled at him as I padded back to his side. “I’m going to promote you to assistant if you’re this good at wound care. This might sting a little if I have to dig to get the knot out, but it won’t be nearly as bad as putting the stitches in. And, anyway, I’ll be gentle.”

“It’s okay. I trust you.”

I tried not to grin like a moron. Focusing on him, I used one wipe on the scissors, one on the clamps, and then another over the wound. Laying one hand flat against his skin, I pulled the flesh tight and picked at the edge of the suture. The skin had grown over it some, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought. And with no infection, he’d dodged a bullet. Well, actually, if he’d dodged the bullet better, he’d wouldn’t have had this problem.

But then we’d never have met.

I used the clamp to pick away some of the skin over the stitches. It was no doubt unpleasant, but he never flinched; he sat still, with his hands balanced on his knees.

I clipped the end of the suture and picked off the knot. “You’re my best patient.”

He didn’t say anything. After a few moments of silence, I felt a soft touch on my leg. I glanced down: he was very gently running his index finger over my knee, tracing the curves and dips of my leg. Heat rose up my throat and cheeks; he was turning me on. And I was damn sure he knew what he was doing. This wasn’t a casual bump—this was a soft touch, a caress of my skin with his fingertips.

I tried to focus on pulling out the sutures. A tug here, a gentle yank there; finally, they slid free with ease. “And…done. Success, achievement; whatever. Your body did the hard work but, you know. These were damn straight stitches. They made us practice that in nursing school.”

“Thank you.”

I turned to throw the sutures and alcohol wipes in the trash can; when I turned back around he was standing behind me, his body close so close to mine that I could feel his warmth. His height and solid muscle made me feel small and weak. The definition of his six pack and v-lines made my fingers twitch—I wanted to trace my fingers down every line of his body.

He touched his fingers to my chin, gently tilting my face up. “There’s something about you…something I just can’t get enough of. You’re all I’ve thought about since you first came down to the vault. You distract me.”

“Is that good or bad?”

He drew his tongue across his bottom lip, his lips parted in a sharp inhale. “Being away from you, that growing need inside me to be close to you…it brings me to my knees. You make everything else seem like it doesn’t matter.”

My cheeks flushed. I hesitated; I reached out and touched his shoulder where metal met flesh. The skin was mottled and heavily scarred, with ribbons of scar tissue flowing towards his chest like deep scratch marks. The skin nearest the metal appendage was callused, as if rubbing and friction for all those years had toughened it.

He closed his eyes, the lids fluttering, and it was clear he was nervous. But when I moved my hand away, he pressed it back to his chest. “I’ve been a monster for a long time.”

“You’re not a monster.” I turned my attention from his chest back to his face. He’d relaxed. “Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore. When they first put it on…it was awful. I stumbled when I walked; every time I moved it felt like each layer of skin was just ripped apart. All I wanted was for it to go away. I wanted to tear it off on my own—I wanted to die. But I couldn’t. I don’t know what they did me, what they put into me. It’s like what they did to Steve,” he opened his eyes and looked into mine. “But it didn’t work.”

It broke my heart. I stood up on my tiptoes and went to kiss his cheek; at the last moment, he turned his head so that our lips met. The kiss was soft, almost timid. 

“Annie. Anelise, sorry.” His cheeks reddened. “Sorry.”

I smiled at him, gently trailing my fingers over the top of his hand and letting him go. “I don’t mind Annie. Not when it comes from you.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.” I rose up on my tip-toes again and kissed him, gently flicking my tongue against his bottom lip. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m tired.”

“Get cleaned up—watch out for your shoulder because it might be tender from me picking at it—and I’ll make you some spice milk. My mom made it for us when…” I trailed off; I didn’t want to think about my past or Pietro or anything that had happened. “I drink it at night sometimes to calm down. It’s sweet and warm, maybe a little spicy if I get carried away with cinnamon.”

“Sweet like you.” He ran his fingertips down my jawline and smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

I took a few steps back to the door. “You’re safe here; you can always come to me if you need me.”

God. What a stupid thing to say. No, he wasn’t safe here—that was bullshit. Steve knew he’d been here. And if Steve knew, then there was no fucking doubt that Hydra could figure it out too. But his blue eyes…those muscles and that body that close to mine….shit, it turned my brain into jello. It was a good thing he didn’t seem to mind.

“And Annie?”

I turned and looked at him. “Yeah?”

“I…” His brow furrowed. “I think my name is Bucky.”

****

Spice milk wasn’t a big, huge production to make: it was basically just milk, cream, sugar, and some cinnamon warmed up in a sauce pan. He didn’t seem to care: once he ambled out of the bathroom—dressed in his trousers and nothing else—with his soap scrubbed face and wet hair, he sat down across from me and cupped his hands around the mug.

We were silent. It was comfortable, just being together in the stone silence of my condo, bathed in the glow of the hall light. We drank our warm milk, his barefoot resting against mine, and looked at each other. He was completely, utterly relaxed. His eyelids were drooping, his breathing heavy—he was like a kitten warm in front of a fireplace.

And when the drinks were finished, he yawned sleepily. “I don’t want to leave you tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning on letting you go.”

“I can sleep on the couch. Trust me, it’s better than what I have back with Hydra.”

I shook my head. Standing up, I walked around the table to him and slid my hand into his, urging him to follow me. “You stay in my room.”

“I swear, all I need is pillows and a blanket and I’ll be comfortable on the floor.”

“You’d be more comfortable with me.”

He smiled—an actual, real smile—and let me pull him to the bedroom. “I can’t argue, doll. I just…didn’t want you to think…”

“I don’t.” I led him right up to the bed and then turned the side table lamp on. “Do you want left or right side?”

“I…what?”

“I mean, I usually take up the entire bed.” I shrugged, casually sinking down on the mattress and tugging him after me. “If you prefer one side over the other, I can share. I can’t promise I won’t steal the blankets, though. You’re own your own for that one.”

He chuckled and sank down next to me. His body was rigid, almost awkward, as if he hadn’t slept in comfort in decades. Maybe he hadn’t. Finally, he said, “I’ll take the side by the door. You know…in case.”

I nodded. Touching his arm, I said, “You don’t have to look so scared. I don’t bite.”

“Maybe I wish you did.”

I tugged him down next to me, yanking the covers up over our heads and bundling us up in a snug, warm, cocoon. This man, this assassin who could snap me like a glow stick, was so gentle—so attentive to me—that I flat out didn’t want to let him go. I wanted him in bed with me, his arms around me and his body pressed to mine, every night. I didn’t want this moment to end.

His eyes fluttered open and I felt the kiss of his lashes against my cheek. “We left the light on.”

“I’m not letting you get up again. I’m sorry. It’s too late now.”

He chuckled and pulled me closer to him, if it was possible, and pressed his lips to my temple. “You don’t understand how much this means to me. I haven’t felt…um…acceptance like this in…uh, a really long time.”

I brushed his hair back from his face, letting my fingers trail down and trace his cheekbones. “There’s something about you. I’ve felt it since that first moment in the vault.”

“I can’t promise that I’ll be here in the morning.”

My heart sank a little; of course I knew that he had to distance himself—for his safety just as much as mine—but I wasn’t ready to think about being away from him. I craved him, I needed him; and now that he was with me, I didn’t want to let him go. “I know.”  
“I’ll come back to you. I always will, no matter what happens.” He pressed his lips to mine. “I swear.”

His kiss was so soft, so gentle—but I could feel the longing in his mind, the need to go further but the fear of rejection. It was etched all through his body too: the clumsy touches, the lingering touch of his lips.

“Bucky.”

“Annie.”

He was smirking at me and it was adorable. I pouted, playfully tugging on a strand of his dark hair. “Don’t make me beg.”

He chuckled. “I’d like to see that. I’ve never had anyone beg…well, not for sex anyway.”

“I’m a bad influence.”

He kissed me again and then pulled away, his face serious; his brow knitted down in a frown. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“If…if they wipe me.” He drew in a sharp breath and hesitated, his blue eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “If they wipe me again and they order me to come after you…look…it’s just, I’m terrified if I get to close to you and that happens…”

A single tear trickled down his cheek and he looked away, his chest heaving slightly as he struggled to rein in his composure. “I don’t want to hurt you. Ever. If they wipe me and I come after you…just promise me you’ll run. Get away from me as fast as you can. My handlers are always armed because if I go off, they have to be ready to put me down. I can’t ask you to do that. But swear to me that if it happens…just swear you’ll leave.”

I looked into his sad, downcast eyes; what once radiated off of him as desire and longing had shattered into trepidation. He was scared. Maybe of me leaving or of him being torn away from me…I didn’t know. But it broke my heart.

I scooted closer to him, pressing my body against his, and tucked my head against his chest. “Hold me.”

He wrapped his arm around me and held me close to him; gradually his breathing slowed back to normal. The exhalations slowed even more as he fell asleep. Our legs were tangled together. My body fit perfectly against his.

And in that moment, I knew: I was falling in love with him. I needed him, physically and emotionally, and no matter what happened, there was nothing that could pull me away from him. Not Hydra. And sure as hell not Steve Rogers.

****

He cried out, jolting upright in the bed. Sweat was dripping down his temple. 

“It’s okay, Bucky, it’s okay.” I ran my hand down his forearm. Sitting up, I kept my hand firm on his wrist. “I’m here with you. It was just a dream.”

His chest was heaving, his flesh clammy. He ran his metal hand through his hair and softly cursed. “It’s always the same dream. Every night, for years…for seventy fucking years it’s the same dream. I’m on the train still and I’ve got that fucking shield. And I think, shit, maybe this time it’ll be different. Maybe it won’t hit me. But it does….everything god damned time the gun goes off and hits the shield. And then I fall.”

I reached up and gently cradled his cheek, tilting his face towards me. His face was wet, tears trickling onto my hand. “We can sit here, awake, for as long as you need.”

He nodded. His eyes fluttered closed; for a moment, he didn’t look the assassin—The Winter Soldier. He was broken and lost, tormented by visions seared into his head that he couldn’t correlate into fact. My heart broke for him. I wanted to be able to say something, anything, that would make him feel better. But this wasn’t something words alone could fix: it was deep seeded trauma.

I tugged on his arm and pulled him into a tight hug, leaning back against the mountain of pillows against the headboard to support us. He pressed his face in the dip between my neck and shoulder; his breathing was gradually returning to normal. I could feel his heartbeat in my mind and, without really thinking about it, I started humming.

Running my fingers through his hair, I held him close and slowly hummed “What’ll I Do” to him. Despite his lingering agitation—though he had calmed down—he relaxed against me. The feeling was amping my pulse up, though: him, snuggled in my arms, his rock hard chest pressed against me. Knowing he was naked in my bathroom, yeah, a turn on. Taking him into my bed to sleep curled up next to me? That got me hot. But now….that emotion, combined with the need and desire and the red hot attraction that was quickly driving me out of my mind…

“Anelise.”

I craved the sound of his voice saying my name; I stopped humming. “Yeah?”

He turned his head to the side, so that his forehead was pressed against my shoulder. As he spoke, his lips brushed against my skin, sending electricity through my body. “When I’m with you…I feel like I’m home. I…ah…I haven’t felt that way in longer than I can even remember.”

I dropped my hand from his hair to his back and gently ran my fingernails across his shoulders. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Shit, what a fucking dumb thing to say.

But he didn’t seemed bothered. With his arms on either side of my body, he pushed himself up and rested his weight on his elbows. “I’m not a good guy.”

“You’ve never hurt me.”

“But…” His eyes glistened, tears suddenly brimming at the bottom lids. “I’ve…hurt a lot of people. I’ve killed them.”

I’d known that; since the first moment in the vault, I knew who he was. Yet, I didn’t care. “Would you ever hurt me?”

“I’d put my life on the line to protect you.”

I ran my fingertip down his lips, then across his cheek to cradle his face. “Then that’s what matters. Just this moment, just us together. Nothing else.”

He turned his head towards my hand, gently pressing his lips to my palm. His eyes searched mine; his metal fingers touched my thigh. “Will you say my name? My…my real name.”

There was fear in his eyes, an uncertainty that I didn’t think any word could bolster. I smiled at him and snuggled closer. “Bucky.”

His smile took my breath away: real happiness, like the smell of bread baking in your grandmother’s house or the feeling of a blanket fresh out of the dryer. And I could see it within him, the echo of who he’d been; who he still was deep inside.

He dipped his head down and gently kissed me. It was cautious, somewhat sweet and hesitant, but after a moment, I felt his lips part and his tongue gently caressing my lips. I opened my mouth to him; the kiss depended in an instant. His tongue mirrored his touch: gentle, tantalizing, exploring me with a soft curiosity that flooded my veins with electricity. I’d wanted him before, but now—wrapped in his arms—my body was on fire. 

His hands were everywhere, both metal and flesh; sliding up my tank top and firm at my waist. The metal hand was somewhat clumsier. It didn’t matter to me. The cold steel sent thrills of gooseflesh over my skin as he touched edge of my underwear. 

I could feel his arousal: the bulge pressed against my leg that he was trying to hide. He was so strong; his shoulders so broad and his body solid against me. At the time time, though, he was gentle. He held me against him, cradling me and touching me, his mouth working against mine—  
—And then he stopped.

My brain felt like it was going to explode. “Are…you okay?”

His cheeks flushed deep red, his normally intense gaze faltering. “I…uh…it’s been a long time.”

“That’s okay. I’m not tallying score.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you.” He ran his knuckles down my cheek, gently sliding his hand back into my hair. “Part of me, a long long time ago, was some sort of…gentleman. And I don’t want you to think that I’m only here for…um…that.”

I rested my hands against his biceps, one flesh and one metal, and nuzzled my face against his hand. “I don’t think that at all.” I didn’t, of course, but my hormones were racing to the point that I either needed a cold shower or to push a taxi into the next county and across state lines.

“The way you feel though….shit, Annie, you’d have me done in a second.”

“Well, I mean.” I snuggled down closer to him, resting my head against his chest. “This might be considered moving fast.”

“I can’t get enough you.” He blurted the words out like he’d been holding them back all night. “The things they make me do…any day, any moment, could be my last. You saw what was in my mind—you saw what they did to make me like this. I go by instinct.”

“Which is….what exactly?”

He pressed his body against mine, rolling me onto my back, and pinned me down with his hip. Dipping his head down, he pressed his lips to the hollow of my throat. “That I crave you.”

Moving his mouth down, he dragged his teeth across my collarbone; first one and then the other. “That I adore you.”

He slid his body upward and kissed me, gently at first but with a quick intensity that I felt radiate through every inch of my body. He pulled back only enough to look into my eyes. “That I desperate need to be with you, no matter what happens. Two days, two minutes, a hundred years; I have nothing in this world but you. And that’s all I need.”

Dipping his head down, he trailed his lips down my throat to my collar bone. I could feel his arousal; his need for me. I wanted to feel him against me—I needed him inside of me. The way I felt about him, how fast and deeply I needed him, scared me. We had some kind of connection, some kind of magnetic draw that I couldn’t ignore.

He’d hesitated as he peppered my skin, below my collar bones, with kisses. Sliding his hands back up to my hair, he pushed his hands back into my hair and softly pressed his thumbs against my temples. “I’ll be gentle.”

I leaned forward and kissed him, drawing his bottom lip into my mouth and gently nibbling on the tender flesh. “You don’t have to be.”

A smile played on his lips. He started unfastening his trousers. “I can’t promise I can last very long.”

“We can try as many times as we want.”

He kissed me. His kiss was so passionate, so intense; it felt like all the desire that had been building between us was being poured into one kiss. Every movement of our bodies, every lap of his tongue or caress of his hand was turning me on; it felt like bolts of electricity were radiating across my lower abdomen. Just making the motions of sex wasn’t what I wanted; it was getting to the point where the pleasure each time he pressed against me was going to just drive me insane.

He was grinding against me; he was moaning softly in his throat every time his cock touched me between my legs. I was so engrossed in the soft sighs in his throat and the feeling of his body against mine, I barely moved when he slid his hands up to my shirt and tugged it over my head. He dipped his head down and licked my left nipple, gently nibbling it. I slid my hands from his shoulders and into his hair, prompting him to keep his head where it was. He trailed his tongue to my other breast, promptly sucking on my nipple and cupping the opposite with his hand. His mouth was hot, his fingers easing from soft and teasing to pinching and rolling.

I was going to lose my mind.

He suddenly raised his head up, pressing his lips to mine with a gentle smack. His eyes were locked on mine, his gaze wide-eyed and intense. “Let me have you.”

I nodded, pressing my mouth back to his. I’d never needed someone so desperately in my life; every inch of me craved him. It was like my soul needed him.

He pushed himself up on one elbow only long enough to slide off his briefs; I used that time to wiggle out of my shorts. Easing himself back down on top of me, he slid his hand between us and adjusted himself, then with one firm thrust of his hips, he entered me.

I arched my back, digging my heels into the mattress. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

He moaned softly in his throat, pressing his lips to my collarbone. “Anelise…God, you are so perfect. This is absolutely how I wanted it to be…”

I wrapped my legs around him, raising my hips up to meet his in that already familiar, steady rhythm. He felt incredible, the way he cradled me in his arms and braced his feet against the footboard to fuck me harder. His lips searched out mine; we were kissing and having the best sex I’d ever had in my life—every movement he made inside me was better than the last. My skin felt hot, salty with his sweat, and I felt like every place he touched me sizzled like the end of a sparkler. Jesus.

“Anelise…Annie...” He kissed me again, his lips curling up into a smile. “You are incredible. You feel like you were made for me.”

“Mmmmm….Bucky, don’t stop.” I mumbled the words against his lips and ran my hands through his hair. “I am so close. Already.”

“That’s okay. I want you to cum for me.” He touched his forehead to mine, pressing his hands to my cheeks. “Only me, Annie. I don’t want you to give it to anyone but me.”

I arched my back again, trying to flex my legs higher up his back. Damn it, kick in anytime now ballet flexibility. Anytime. “I won’t, Bucky…fuck, right there. Right there.”

He suddenly pressed his palms into the mattress and pushed himself up, pulling out of me in one smooth motion. I didn’t have time to say anything; he scrambled down the bed and pressed his face between my legs. His tongue lapped soft circles over my clit while he dipped his metal fingers inside me. Intensity and pleasure radiated through my body and down to the tips of my toes. I nearly squealed out loud, promptly clapping my hand over my mouth. “Bucky! Oh my god…don’t…don’t stop.”

He barely moved his face from my skin. “Do you like that, doll?”

“God, Bucky, yes.”

“Say it louder for me.”

“YES!”

He slid up my body and lowered his weight down on me, entering me again. This time, he dropped his hand to my leg and nudged it upward. “Annie, I am so close for you.”

“Then cum for me.” I held his head steady, staring into his wide eyes. “Show me how much you like the way it feels.”

“Shit, doll, I love the way it feels, the way you make me feel.” He pushed my other leg up and eased them both over his shoulders. Rising up more on his knees, he changed his rhythm to a somewhat more frantic, faster pace.

I bit my lip. It felt like…it was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I couldn’t tell if he really was hitting me deeper than anyone ever had—possible because he was hung—or if it was just because it was him. It didn’t matter; each thrust brought me closer to the edge, watching his brow knit in obvious pleasure turned me on even more.

“Anelise…” his eyebrows arched upward and he pitched forward, pulling me back into his arms and crushing his mouth to mine. He cupped one of my breasts in his hand, trailing his kisses down my throat. “Oh, Annie, I can’t…uh…I can’t last much longer.”

I slid my hands from his shoulders to his face, cradling him by his cheeks. Guiding his lips back to mine, I stared up into his eyes. “It’s okay. Just cum for me. Please…please Bucky, just for me. Cum for me.”

He buried his face against my neck, tightening his hold around my body. Both his breathing and his rhythm quickened, faster and with a pitch of frantic pleasure. I heard him suck a sharp breath through his teeth and he stiffened, his climax inside me—the soft twitching and firm pressure of his hips—was enough to push me over the edge again. We were both gasping for breath; the passion still hanging in the air and heavy between us.

He laid still for a moment, sliding one hand out from underneath me and back into my hair. Gently cradling me against him, he turned his head to me and gently kissed my lips. “I would go through everything again—the hell and shit that Hydra put me through—just to find my way to you.”


End file.
